


A Dance of Snow and Frost

by Shadow_hunter93



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Character Study, Coping, Loneliness, One Shot, might become more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 13:18:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13249035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_hunter93/pseuds/Shadow_hunter93
Summary: He stands on the snow, endless white stretching in all directions. The Wind howls and whips around the lone form, eager to see what its eternally young charge has planned. A breath, then he begins.





	A Dance of Snow and Frost

**Author's Note:**

> I recently decided to start posting work of my own. This was originally on fanfiction.net, moving it over here now ^^ Felt fitting that the last work I posted there would be my first one here... it was also the only thing that was complete ^^"
> 
> This is something I wrote in one go after being inspired by ROTG videos on YouTube. Hope you enjoy.

A Dance of Snow and Frost

He stands on the snow, endless white stretching in all directions. The Wind swirls around the lone form, eager to see what its eternally young charge has planned. A breath, then he begins.

A wave of his left hand sends up a flurry of snow. It takes the shape of a wolf, howling along with the Wind as it rushes across the plain before bursting into snowflakes. A smile quirks at his lips, before turning slightly bitter. This won't do, he can do better than this. Another gesture, bigger this time, a pack of snow rushes down a hill turning into a pack of wolves on the way. More movements and the pack begin to run in formations, leaping, charging and howling.

Now he begins to move his feet, quick bursts of snow fly into the air forming trees, rocks and bushes. The wolves race through this frozen forest, between trees, over rocks and through the bushes. The smile is more content now, the Wind flies through leaves of snow. The eternal boy stops for but a moment before starting anew, he begins to dance. The wolves blur together, howls turns into a roar. The Wind cuts the trees near their roots, as they fall they turn to flakes getting caught in the Wind at it soars past, as if covering thin new wings.

Gone are the wolves and the forest, left in their wake are majestic beings of myth. Shades of white and blue glides over these creatures, the light of the full moon catching in their gossamer thin wings. The roar of the dragons compliments the howling Wind; their breaths are not fire but blizzards. On and on the boy moves, spins and twists and bursts in this special dance. The Wind spirals outwards, soaring higher to see what else the sprite has in mind. The movements ebb and flow into each other, his eyes wide open with child-like glee. Scenes out of fairy tales come to life on this empty plain.

One moment the snow takes the shape of people dancing as if in a ballroom, before it glides into animals of both reality and fantasy. Battles and play, ancient and present, all blending into one another as the winter child keeps spinning. The Wind sings through the valleys, helping along the snow for its charge. So unlike what he makes near the humans. There he makes due with rolling drapes of snow, there he limits details to sheets of ice, all of this carefully crafted, all of this magnificent, the only things fit for all to see.

Here he can create, the forms are ever-changing and yet each is so detailed one would think they were alive. This is his art, this is the beauty he can bring, but never does. For unlike painted eggs, and carved wood, this can hurt. These scenes of wonder would steal your last breath, these figures would chill a mortal to the bone. Out here in this desert of snow it is safe to create, no one would ever be harmed by the creations here. For no one would ever see them.

These would be irrefutable proof, this would make them believe he was real. All these years in solitude, ended within moments, if only they could see. A tear trickles down, for all the suffering, all the longing. For a moment the solitude would be ended, true, but then those who had seen would perish from the cold, and the loneliness would claim him again. For the cold winds would not affect him, he was the winter child. Neither would warmth touch him, not his skin and not his core.

He may not be affected by the cold of the wind, but the years of being invisible has left a chill so deep his bones feel like the ice he brings when he glides across water. These creations, his only companions save the Wind. One might wonder what good these creations, this proof, would do if there is nobody to witness it. But there is, these creations are his proof, proof of existence, proof of Life.

These ethereal forms dancing with the Wind are his proof to himself of his existence. This dance he has done countless times throughout nearly three hundred years of existence, is for him. The Wind the sole witness to the wonders he creates. The Man in the Moon a silent observer as he has always been.

This is his art, this is his proof, this is his element.

This is Jack Frost.

**Author's Note:**

> Might make this into a series if I get my inspiration for this one back. Please let me know what you think in the comments below ^^


End file.
